


Ruin Me

by corrielle



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, F/M, First Time, Pre-Season/Series 01, historically unremarkable underage sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 02:28:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4986604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corrielle/pseuds/corrielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles Vane made Eleanor a promise once, and she's come to collect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ruin Me

As usual, Easter Sunday went unremarked in Nassau. Inland, the respectable folk gathered in their churches, but in the port, the only ones who noticed it was Easter were the whores who saw a drop in custom as some men’s thoughts turned, for the day, at least, to God.

Charles Vane’s thoughts concerned neither whores nor God. His thoughts were on Eleanor Guthrie, who was standing just inside the tent he’d pitched on the beach in the middle of the _Ranger’s_ camp. She was wearing the finest dress he had ever seen on any woman, all pale cream and white lace, and she was furious, though he did not think he was furious at _him_. 

“What are you doing here, Eleanor?” he asked. 

“I thought I’d stop by for tea on my way home from church,” she said, in what he imagined was a perfect parody of a woman of good breeding. She put one hand on the delicate white hat perched at a fashionable angle on her curls and ripped it from her head. She’d been beautiful before, but the way perfect, untouchable things are beautiful. Now she looked more like herself. 

“I’ve got rum,” he said, and offered her the bottle. 

“I’d hoped you would say that.” She took it from him and drank deeply. As she handed it back to him, she said, “I want you to fuck me.” 

For a moment, everything was perfectly still. He’d been waiting for her to say those words for a year and a half, since he’d promised her that when she wanted to do more than feel a man’s eyes on her, he’d treat her well. _When you’re ready to be fucked, you come and ask_ me _for it, do you understand?_ And now she was asking. 

All at once, they reached for each other. His arms were around her waist, and hers were wrapped around his shoulders, and he was crushing his lips to hers. His hands were not clean, and they left sand and grease on her bodice when he took them away. 

“You didn’t come dressed to fuck,” he said. “We’ll ruin your dress just getting it off you.” 

Eleanor ran her hands down her sides where his had just been. “Then ruin it. _I don’t care._ ” There was something wild and angry in her voice, and it set his blood on fire. He kissed her again, running his hands over her shoulders, the lace that spilled down her arms, and her soft white gloves. 

He’d never seen her in gloves before, and the material was warm to the touch from her hands. It felt good to link his fingers with hers, to revel in the smoothness of the fabric, but there were other places where it would be even better for her to touch him. 

He half-lay, half-fell onto the pile of rugs and blankets he slept on, and he pulled her down with him. Eleanor kicked off a pair of white shoes with golden buckles with such vehemence that her skirts and petticoats tangled around both their legs. 

Charles laughed and reached for the knife under his pillow. 

“I could cut you free,” he offered. The idea of slicing Eleanor out of her skirts, of her _letting_ him, would have made him hard in an instant if he hadn’t been already. 

She caressed the knuckles of the hand the held the knife. “No,” she said, but from the way her lips had parted when he’d made the offer, he knew she regretted having to say it. “Don’t ruin it _that_ much. I still have to walk back, and you don’t have anything my size.” 

He stabbed the knife into the ground next to them and took her gloved hand in his, slowly guiding it down his chest while his other hand unlaced his breeches. When she realized what he was doing, she flashed him a sharp, wicked smile and slid her hand the rest of the way down to his cock on her own. When she touched him, it felt just as good as he’d imagined it would, and better, with her on her side leaning against him, breathing hard enough that he could see her coming up short when her bodice tightened around her ribs. 

“You’ll need to breathe for what’s coming,” he murmured into her ear. 

“Then free me,” she said, not even breaking the even rhythm she’d found as she stroked him. 

It was lucky for both of them that the corset was not complicated. All that held it closed was a simple set of hooks and eyes down the front that snapped open easily enough once he unfastened the first. When it hung open and slack around her shoulders, Charles threw one arm over her waist and pressed her to him, just so he could feel the heat of her body and the firm curve of her breasts through her thin chemise. 

“The gloves too,” she said. “I want to feel you without them.” She took her hands from his cock, and his breath caught at the loss of her touch. There were buttons at the tops of her gloves, pearl, by the look of them, but Charles didn’t have the patience to undo them one by one. Instead, he clawed at the place where fabric ended and skin began, and, once he got his fingers under it, peeled it from her body in one swift motion. One hand freed, Eleanor ripped the other glove from her other arm with ferocity that equaled his and tossed it to the other side of the tent. 

When she reached for him again, he pulled her in for a kiss, and so he felt her breath catch the first time her bare fingers touched his cock. She touched him with such brashness, such confidence, that it made up for her inexperience. He would have smiled, but his lips were otherwise occupied. 

Charles ran his hand that had been resting on her hip down her leg, and pulled her thigh up toward him so that he could get under her skirt. She gasped and stroked him harder when he found the hot, wet place between her legs, and something in him went taut as a line stretched to its breaking point. 

Together, they hiked her skirts up over her knees so he could settle between them. They were both breathing hard, and her eyes shone with lust and exhilaration. Knowing that her desire matched his stretched the line inside him even tighter. His hips brushed against the inside of her thighs as he pushed into her, and her hands tightened around his arms as he filled her. She was tight and wet and warm and impossibly perfect, and when he cupped her check with one hand and rested his forehead against hers, her eyes were wide open, staring up at him expectantly. 

Truth be told, Charles had never fucked a virgin. He’d heard that they had to be handled carefully, or there would be tears, and in even the best of cases, there would be blood. But it appeared that as in so many things, Eleanor was exceptional. There was no fear, no pain, not even the slightest bit of nervousness on her face. And he didn’t think the wetness slathered over her inner thighs was blood. 

He was still inside her for a moment, but then Eleanor rolled her hips and took a little more of him in, and the line snapped. 

He growled low in his throat as he started to move in her, not the smooth, easy thrusts that would let her get used to him, but sharp, hungry motions that made her gasp. His stomach slapped against hers, both of them wet with sweat, and when he came back to himself and started to slow, she wrapped her arms around him and dug her nails into his shoulders. 

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed at him, and grabbed and handful of his hair to pull him down to kiss her. 

Her fury having given him permission, he thrust into her, hard and fast, with all the force of pent up desire moving through him as he fucked her. He held himself just above her, and he could feel her breasts moving under him with each thrust. She still had her hand tangled in his hair, and her grip on it was tight and sure, and she held him so he could hear her breathing quicken near his ear, hear her whisper “Fuck,” and “Yes.” _Her_ voice saying _those_ words was maddening, and his eyes fell shut as he lost himself in her – the way her hair was slick against her face and neck, her arms held on to him like he was a prize she was owed, the way her legs opened for him, but it was he who felt as if he were being broken wide open.   He breathed in her scent—sweat over bruised perfume—and reveled in the tight warmth of her cunt. 

He was close now, and he ran one hand down her side and under her thigh to lift it higher and fuck her more deeply, rolling his hips and getting a desperate groan from her in response. 

“That’s it,” his voice was rough in her ear. “Fuck, Eleanor…” 

“Charles…” 

Hearing her say his name pushed him closer to the edge, but he only truly came undone when she arched her back and tightened around his cock as she neared her climax. After the first crest, she didn’t release his shoulders, but kept clinging to him as she her hips against his, demanding all he could give her, and he was more than willing. He pulled out as far as he dared, and cried out hoarsely as he buried himself in her. 

The world went white, and he came in her as both of them made guttural noises, neither of them caring that they were loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. 

When he was spent, he rolled onto his side next to her, his wet cock resting against her soiled white dress. She was still breathing hard, and her eyes were glassy, but the corners of her lips turned up in a triumphant smile. He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand and kissed her. 

“Better?” he asked. 

She smirked at him sleepily as she buried her face in his shoulder and nuzzled at his neck. “What do you think?” 

At that moment, Charles was thinking a great many things. _I think the_ Ranger _might need to sail tonight and not come back unless it’s bringing in a fat prize to ward off Richard Guthrie’s wrath when he finds out I’ve fucked his daughter. I think I want to keep you here until I’m hard again. I think, now that I’ve had you, I want you even more than I did before.  
_

“I think you got what you wanted,” he said. “Half the port must have heard us.” 

“Good. Let them hear. Let them talk. I am Nassau’s, not England’s.” Even lying limp and exhausted against him, Eleanor was fierce. He sat up and pulled her to him, kissing her flushed lips and running one thumb over her cheek. 

“Does that mean you’ll stay the night?” he asked. If she was missed, someone from the Guthrie household might see fit to come and try to retrieve her without being subtle about it, and given his crew’s quick temper, that might get ugly. He’d have to put the word out to leave Guthrie’s messenger unharmed. He would handle whatever came himself, and it would be worth the risk to be able to strip the rest of her clothes from her once the sun set and fuck her naked in the candlelight. 

“There are others who will get into trouble if I don’t return,” she said. She sighed regretfully and lifted up a pillow to retrieve one of her shoes. He helped her dress as best as she could. He rested his forehead against hers as he fastened her corset and she held her breath, and he helped her unroll her stockings all the way up her legs, taking advantage of his position to brush his fingers over the hair between her legs. She was still wet and sticky, and she gasped and covered his hand with hers, pressing him hard against her for a few heady moments. 

“Next time,” he promised when she let go. It was an assumption, yes, but it was also a promise. 

She let her skirts fall around her legs and brushed her hair out of her eyes. Then, she pushed back the flap of his tent with one quick, decisive motion and stepped out onto the beach. Heads turned as she started back toward the street. Some men laughed, others called out congratulations to her _and_ to him, and some yelled propositions at her. It was this last that worried him. He guessed that her name and his unspoken protection would shield, but he didn’t trust Nassau enough to let a recently well-fucked girl in a ruined dress to walk its length alone. 

So he kept her in sight until she just before she reached the street, then he grabbed his coat and his sword and followed at a distance. If it was attention she wanted, it was attention she got. He remembered a story she’d told him about a naked woman on a horse, and he wondered if that wasn’t where she’d gotten the idea. She certainly didn’t hang to the side of the street, she walked boldly down the middle of it, and every head in Nassau turned to watch her go. 

In the end, she didn’t have to find the Guthrie party. They found her. Mr. Scott, who seemed to have been leading the search, threw a cloak around her exposed shoulders and signaled for the other two men to fall in line behind her as he hustled her towards the boat waiting to take them back to the Guthrie estate. 

As they hurried her along, she looked over her shoulder and saw him, and he touched his forehead in salute. The smile she gave him in return was all the assurance he needed that he’d be seeing her again.

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was written for [VaneEleanor Week 2015](https://www.tumblr.com/tagged/veaw15), with apologies for its lateness.


End file.
